


Epitaph

by Abyssiniana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Broken Families, Child Loss, Developing Relationship, F/M, Galaxy Garrison, Gen, Iverson pov, Iverson sees a second son in Shiro, Loss, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, SHEITH - Freeform, Shadam, Sheith towards the end, Shiro's disease will develop later on, adashi, non-sexual teacher/student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: This is the story of how Iverson learned to not trust the stars with the ones who are dearest to him.__«Dad, I’m going to be the one to cross the edge of the Solar System!»





	1. Chapter 1

 

**_I._ **

 

Malik Iverson was a stellar boy - no, a  _ man _ , as his father often had to correct himself. The little brat who picked his nose often enough to make it bleed regularly, the kid who hid candy wrappers on his pillow case so that his parents wouldn’t catch him eating sweets late in the night, the bloke who got crudely rejected at senior prom and called his dad to pick him up to hit McDonald’s and get back home for a five hours long marathon of How It’s Made, was nothing short of  _ stellar _ .

 

Amazing grades, impressive skills, untarnished simulator records, a promising future shining bright before him, a beautiful bride with the right mindset to have children sometime soon, and a mission at the scale fitting of an exemplary astropilot; a spatial venture towards Neptune, a methane frozen world with fourteen known moons and an immense gravitational pull.

 

Malik Iverson was bloody  _ stellar _ , and no one would say otherwise.

 

As stellar as he was, the sky mourned his loss on the day of his funeral. The rain mocked the empty flag-draped casket with fake tears, watered the soil that would house a ghost for the rest of eternity and drenched the black-clad living crowd around a hole on the military cemetery in yet another layer of melancholic grief, bitter pain, unfair,  _ so fucking unfair! _ \--

 

_ In loving memory of Malik Leighton Iverson. A son, a groom, a father-to-be. M-I-A. Presumed dead. _

 

As stellar as he was, the stars always claimed what is rightfully theirs and his dad sent him straight at them. Mitch Iverson, Lieutenant General at the Galaxy Garrison, had recommended his own child, his baby boy, his whole world, for the mission that killed him... Twenty seven years of loving a son beyond everything was sucked into nothingness, a constellation of diamonds stolen from the night sky.

 

As stellar as Malik Iverson was, the Universe took him away from home.

  
  


**__**

**_II._ **

 

A lot had changed in a year, and yet Mitch Iverson felt numb to the vacillating transition.

 

Shoulders squared as he stood in front of twenty-three freshmen heads - little dimwitted ants who seemed to require some sort of advanced degree in Geometry to figure out how to form a freaking horizontal line in seconds -, the caramel skinned man traced the tan mark around his ring finger, reminiscing about the missing golden band which had once symbolized a perpetual love and had been lost to reasons he couldn’t even make sense of.

 

After Malik’s disappearance - …  _ death _ \- the Lieutenant took no breaks, refusing the extended mourning period he was rightfully entitled to. Had he stopped, had he exited his office, he wouldn’t have found the courage to ever return. Maybe that had been the reason Amelie left; he was never home. He didn’t have the balls to open his mouth to as much as say good morning to his wife when they woke up in the same bed. He was never present, head throbbing with guilt and the permanent suffering attached to the loss of the most precious person in a lifetime and even more when it resulted in the divorce of the woman he had shared over thirty years of his life with.

 

What could he do, though?

 

No fate is more cruel than to pass away after your child.

 

Yet again, he mused, the day they lost all communication with the ship Le Verrier I, a large percentage of his life had gone with the stars too. What was left of Mitch Iverson if not the severe upright man, nicknamed  _ Lieutenant Horror _ by those pupils who had experienced his short-temper first hand, the one that made cadets flinch and Professors and Commanders hush their idle chit chat when he passed by?  

 

“Today, you are welcomed as cadets of the Galaxy Garrison.” He began, heavy sole echoing in the auditorium that died out into silence the moment he projected his guttural voice to the microphone taped to his cheek. “You’ve first crossed these facilities and put on those flashy orange uniforms as nothing but snotty urchins with an ambition. But you will leave as men and women with a vision, a mission. You will be the next generation of elite astroexplorers. In six years, you will grow, physical and mentally…”

 

The speech was the same as the years before and the years to come, dragging a couple yawns and tiring Iverson more than anyone else. A brief introduction to let these kids know they weren’t here to fuck around, that this was a military school where only the best of the best across the globe ingress into a NASA subsidized branch dedicated to the strict education that aimed towards space travel. They were expected to follow the rules, obey curfews and excel at their disciplines. If not… not even the rare scholarships would save them from dispensation. 

 

“From left to right, front row to last, your name and your reason or motivation for enlisting.” Iverson hated this part; he didn’t bother to look any cadet in the eye since he would have a chance to memorize their faces and last names either by continuously asking during a lecture or by checking their bios and academic records, should a report be necessary to thicken their respective folder.

 

For their own good, it was best if he didn’t have to know their names.

 

“Cadet Adams, and I want to be an engineer, Sir!”   
  
“Cadet Cooper, pilot, fighter class, Sir!”   
  
In alphabetic order, the eldest made a mental countdown;  _ E… H… J... N… R…  S. _   
  
“Cadet Shirogane, Sir.”   
  
_ Dad, I’m going to be the one to cross the edge of the Solar System! _   
  
“... The  _ fuck _ you said?” The lined-up first-years almost collectively stepped back, as if he had hissed the words out, sharper than the clean cut of a  _ katana _ . Perhaps he had, he considered, noting that his throat burned with the bile that traveled backwards from his stomach to his mouth, the whole class holding their breaths over boisterous, asynchronous beating hearts. All but one cadet had effectively fallen out of formation, the young boy looking up at him with nothing but respect, and a slight hint of concern, with a tilt of his head.   
  
“Sir...?”   
  
Iverson cleared his throat, correcting his posture though there was little he could do about the frown had seemed to have been permanently carved on his forehead.   
  
“What did you say, Cadet?”

 

The boy was short, skinny as a twig, aluminum colored eyes angled downwards as the Japanese heritage dictated, his hair of a pitch black, falling over his forehead in the form of ridiculous wild-looking bangs. Through the partially open lips, Iverson spotted a hint of metal, the braces making his mouth look a bit bigger than it was.   
  
“I said… I want to cross the edge of the Solar System, sir.”

 

**_III._ **

 

Takashi Shirogane. Fifteen. Born on February 29th in South Tokyo, but raised by his grandparents in the rural heart of Japan. Divorced parents. No further mention of them - in the barely lit ambiance of the office assigned to him, Iverson wrote down the names of the father and mother on a post-it note so he could look into it later. Fascinating school record, recommendation letters from teachers came attached to the file he was reading, along with certified medical guarantees of his impeccable physical and mental condition - aside from the dentist, the slight crook and gap on his front teeth currently under repair with the braces which gave him a hard time during meals. He was one of the four cadets who were riding on a merit scholarship in the present year.

 

Takashi Shirogane seemed nothing short of perfect.

 

And nothing terrified Mitch Iverson more than someone who appeared to be perfect. 

 

1:43AM was the time displayed in the hologram projector by his computer, orange hued numbers weighing on him with a need to sleep for the first time in days. As he retired to his private quarters, sliding door locking behind him, he considered Takashi Shirogane’s file in thought.

 

Perfection came with overconfidence, and overconfidence was a death sentence in space. The gravity of a distant planet is attracted to the brilliance of men who are simply superb, as if the stars themselves were scared of someone shining brighter than them and ordered the other astral bodies to terminate their light as they must, and so they did.

 

The stars weren’t fair, and neither was he.

 

That thought buzzed like a faulty neon sign on his head the next day, as he added two more laps around the field, twenty push-ups and ten extra squats to the physical training class. Shirogane panted heavily, sweat steaming at his forehead, snaking down his temple, his calves twitching with the effort of standing in a line after the excessive amount of exercise. Once the Lieutenant declared that the class had finally reached an end, he saw the boy collapse on his feet, ass hitting the ground in a nearly mute thud, arms thrown up as he fell on his back.

 

“I made it!” He might have whispered to no one, and Mitch Iverson feared, like the stars, that Takashi Shirogane was a bit too bright to be stared at.


	2. Chapter 2

**_IV._ **

 

Iverson didn’t mean to witness it; part of him would rather he hadn’t because he didn’t know what to do with that information. It wasn’t a  _ bad _ thing, nothing wrong; maybe in the past it would have been frowned upon by the most conservative of people, but not anymore, he thought, babbling in his mind as if he had to excuse himself to God for accidentally seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

 

Heck, cadets made out all the time! Sometimes they didn’t have the decency to keep it private, others thought they had figured out the blind spots of the not-so-hidden vigilance cameras, but only made a fool of themselves by forgetting the device on the opposite wall. Confraternization amongst soldiers was not recommended nor advisable, but these were young teenagers, most of them embracing the complex alterations brought on by puberty, it was tremendously unrealistic to expect them to keep their tingly little hormones on check.

 

Well, so long as dicks were kept tucked inside their pants and the female equivalent equally hidden from sight, there was no real issue.

 

Iverson just had never anticipated the day he would see Takashi Shirogane kiss a boy.

 

It took an embarrassing while to compute. Iverson needed a glass of water for that, and the promise of something stronger later that evening.

 

Much. _ Much. _ Stronger.

 

His visit to the secluded security room had no purpose of voyeuristic guilt, but a glance at the television set to record every single movement on the hallway of the sector L-7 showed him the flickering image of cadet Shirogane casually resting his back against the wall, and a second cadet - same year, same height, same degree of alarming red on his face - leaning in for a kiss.

 

It was quick, polite, a bit more delicate than boys were expected to be, but it was over in less than a few seconds, those idiots covering their mouths as if they wanted to hold each other’s breath and the memory of the gentle pressure there forever. With a shared smile, cadets Shirogane and Rivera tried again, this time more surely, and Iverson decided it was probably more than due that he looked away.

  
  


**__**

**_V._ **

 

So the kid was gay, big deal. He sure wasn’t the first cadet to show interest in the same gender, and certainly not the last, in the - gladly - accepting days they lived in. Sexuality wasn’t an issue anymore, and that was never the point with Takashi Shirogane.

 

Girls and boys alike looked up to the kid who had broken his first record in the simulator at the end of his first year, shooting himself above great names in the history of the Garrison on his fourth or fifth attempt in the  _ Calypso _ scenery. They crowded around him at lunch, asking him questions when they gathered a study group in the library, asked him for advice during Physics class… He was a little golden beacon of knowledge, technical expertise and “good looks”, according to the Twitter page of every girl in the facility.

 

But damn, the kid seemed sad. First year finals were approaching rapidly and he was about to have a taste of sleepless nights and instant noodles for breakfast, but it was still too soon to worry about grades, specially for someone with as little difficulty as Shirogane had revealed himself to be.

 

Cadet Rivera seemed to keep his distance from Shiro, God knows why, but Iverson could guess, because Rivera had been holding hands with a girl in the hallways as of lately.

 

Teenage heartbreak was a mess, even more so when parents tried to meddle into it, and it definitely was not his place to do that with a cadet. When Shiro’s performance at the flight simulator suffered with this constant distraction, Iverson thought he ought to do something.

 

Against better judgement, clearly, because he should have just stayed put.

 

“... Am I in trouble, sir?” Shiro rightfully inquired, eyebrow quirked in honest confusion after being called to Iverson’s office over the general intercom installed across the Garrison. Maybe he should have been a bit more discreet about the invitation; not everyone needed to know about it.

 

“No.” And he wasn’t, really; Iverson wasn’t even sure why he had requested the youngster’s presence in his office but there he stood, arms glued to his sides, lips pressed together as if keeping words he didn’t know trapped inside the prison of his mouth. Like he had swallowed a damn fork and couldn’t command himself to bend into a less tense stance. His mind drifted back to the time he had consoled his dear son Malik when a girl stood him up; a mess of snotty tissues, fast food and marathons of TV shows of mediocre quality. “You’re not in trouble, cadet.” A sigh of relief. “Why don’t you accompany me outside the premises?”

 

“P-Pardon me, sir?”

 

**__**

**_VI._ **

 

_ McDonald’s _ was fucking disgusting. Iverson never quite understood why kids were so crazy about greasy burgers and overly salted fries, but he wouldn’t be the one to doubt the inviting aura of the iconic redhead clown, a sculpture sitting on a bench just outside the establishment with a wide porcelain grin.

 

It was the first thing they passed by when they drove into the nearest town, so it would have to do.

 

Cadet Shirogane (who looked a bit too small in the casual leather jacket he wore outside of school grounds) fidgeted nervously, staring at the menus above the counter; undoubtedly wondering what the hell he was doing in a roadside fast-food restaurant with a teacher, a mentor, a superior in the elite ranks of the Galaxy Garrison.

 

There  _ was _ an explanation for that.

 

Iverson would have to figure that one out as they went.

 

With his back straight and hands behind his back, since Iverson simply couldn’t drop his military posture anywhere, he wondered if this wasn’t a mistake after all. A fatherly instinct towards a student wasn’t too advisable. It was unfair, even to Shiro, that he saw the ghost of a boy long gone in someone with his life still ahead of him, and worse, to try and treat him like such.

 

Shiro was  _ not _ Malik and it was embarrassing the amount of times Mitch repeated that chant in his head.

 

They sat at one of the corner booths with their orders, and maybe out of desperation to do something other than think of what constantly haunted him, Iverson took an immediate large bite into his  _ Double Cheese _ . Incredible how these things looked much bigger in the promotional posters. Chewing did calm him down in some manner, even if only momentarily, until he felt the unwelcomed flavor of pickles. Who, in their perfect minds, chose to eat such an atrocity? Disgusting.

 

“S-Sir…?” Iverson blinked several times, a morse code of sorts to call himself back to reality. He glanced over his burger to meet doe-like grey eyes darkened by a frown. Shiro hadn’t touched his meal at all, nervous hands hidden beneath the table. “Am I... going to be expelled?”

 

“Of course not.” Was that what this situation came off as? A sugar coated way to discharge a student? Iverson had done that more than a few times before and he assured it never came accompanied with a lunch invitation. It was usually an email, even, as bureaucratic and dismissive as it could get.

 

“It’s just… I know my performance in the simulator hasn’t been the best as of lately, but I can do it, and I want to do it, I promise--”

 

_ Why did they have to be so damn alike? _

 

Shiro was  _ not _ Malik, and Iverson could only hope to God his heart would stop confusing the two boys.

 

“I don’t doubt your skills, Shirogane,” Iverson began with a patience that didn’t usually adorn his words. “You’re one of the Garrison’s brightest pupils, and in such a short time you broke a record. A few failed missions in the simulator don’t cloud your brilliancy in the long run.”

 

He heard the youngster gulp, and the dryness of his mouth finally urged him to take a sip of his Iced Tea. The boy seemed to have calmed down, and thus so did Iverson, a weight rolling out of his shoulders with the small smile he spotted. He was glad he wasn’t asked about his intentions because he didn’t yet have the answer to that.

 

Why was it that he cared so much?

 

Even with the absence of a paternal or motherly figure, Takashi was not the type of boy to be bothered by the lack of parental love. Never once did he show signs of missing or needing a mother or a father, the gap was nonexistent for someone who never had anything there in the first place.

 

Iverson, however… He did have Malik until not long ago. He had had an amazing son, with amazing skills and the vacant spot in his heart was shaped by his own regret and guilt for having sent him to his death. Shiro, a boy with no parents, and Iverson, a father desperate to fill in the dreading chasm of losing a child. Even without meaning to, the gap had taken the form of Takashi Shirogane, somewhere along the way.

 

After that, conversation flew surprisingly easy. They both hated pickles and argued that burgers were ten times better without the cursed green things; Iverson was only half surprised to learn that Shiro had the  _ Calypso _ mission and routine studied back and forth, to the smallest detail. He spoke of it with the enthusiasm of a child and the determination of an adult, even though his age group was in between those. 

 

“... And Rivera, he’s great with the mechanics, we’re overall a really good team! Once we get to head out to space, there’s no one I would rather have by my side.”

 

He couldn’t help a tender snort at those words. So confident, so sure… He had heard this before and the memory twinged on his heart with the reminder that the wound was still wide open.

 

_ Dad, I’m going to be the one to cross the edge of the Solar System! _

 

There was no saying “no” to such determination; there was no way to shatter a dream so strong, no way to silence the call that these kids heard so much louder than reason. Because if there had ever been anyone capable of crossing the edge of the Solar System, it had been Malik Iverson, and Takashi Shirogane held the same fate.

 

_ M-I-A. Presumed dead. _

 

Iverson shook his head, rubbing at his temples in a harsh massage that might as well have perforated his skull.  _ No. _ Not again.

 

“Cadet Rivera. Yes. I noticed you and him are... close…?” He pressed with a little hesitance, too late to stop his tongue from spilling out the words that changed the course of thought his mind was guiding him towards.

 

“Oh, no, I’m…” He shrugged. “We kind of were, I think... But Rivera is with someone else right now.” He spoke naturally, somehow dismissively, shoving it away from the conversation. Kids and heartbreak; either the end of the known world, or a missable crack on a foreign wall. 

 

“I see.” Iverson nodded with assertiveness, though the Lieutenant found himself at a loss; if not for cadet Rivera, what could be troubling the boy? His grades were excellent; he was eating just fine, went to the bathroom once, everything seemed to be in order. Why did it the head of a fifteen year old have to be so complex?

 

It occurred to him that maybe Takashi Shirogane either had an adamantine heart, or was very good at hiding things. The way his platinum colored eyes darkened whenever the youngster thought he wasn’t looking was pointing him towards the latter.

 

“Lieutenant Iverson?” Shiro prompted when he was escorted to the door of his assigned room at the Garrison; Iverson squared his shoulders and kept his hands behind his back. “Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”

 

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he saw the young cadet disappear into his room.

 

Whatever was going on in the mind of the teenager… That bright smile would ease Mitch’s mind for the time being, he supposed; because maybe, just maybe, this boy was meant to go a little beyond the stars and the tragedy of one did not have to be the predestined downfall of another.


	3. Chapter 3

_**VII.** _

 

“I fell again.” Shiro, eighteen, chuckled dismissively upon being asked about the origin of the recent bruise on his rib during a routine check at the Garrison’s resident doctor. “Hit the doorknob.”

Iverson rose an eyebrow at that; he never had taken Shiro as the clumsy type, especially when the bruises had replicas of the same kind across several spots on his body. The nurse had done the right thing by calling him; the protocol so demanded.

“Can I put on my shirt now?” Shirogane whined.

“Gentlemen, would you mind?” Iverson requested that him and cadet Shirogane would be left alone without using those words, and that order was immediately picked up as both the doctor and the nurse exited the examination room, the automated door sliding closed behind them to leave them to their privacy.

His vision had already zeroed on the purple and bluish contusions, a few of them old enough to have reddened, a few small cuts, and scrapes. Shiro sat in the flat hospital bed with nothing but his briefs, arms self-consciously wrapping around his frame, eyes darting for an escape.

“Is anyone hurting you, Cadet?” Iverson cut straight to the chase, eyes narrowing with the assurance of repercussions to anyone who had dared to use physical violence within the halls of the Garrison facilities. Expulsion would be the least of the aggressor’s concerns, he swore between himself and God, that if someone was truly assaulting a fellow cadet, then by the power invested in him by the fucking Government, he would make sure, that person would never--

“No one. I’m fine, sir.” Shiro promised, voice carrying more certainty than the physical evidence before Iverson did.

“Are you lying to me, Shirogane?”

“No!” He recomposed himself by lowering the tone of his voice. “No, sir. I’m okay, I’ve just been tripping every now and then. I’m… a little tired? It’s exam season, you know how I tend to get really stressed and uh, skip a meal or two? I just need to get some rest, sir, and I’ll be good,” Shiro laughed, reaching for his white sleeveless undershirt and slipping it on, followed by the orange uniform he had grown out of a little.

Iverson allowed his mind to backtrack a few years, to Malik so proudly stating that he had ripped the stitches of his uniform, under his arm. I’ll need to order a new one, he had said. Training and sparring is paying off, dad, check out these guns!, he had boasted. Iverson had laughed back then, but that laughter didn’t travel across time to what he witnessed in the present.

Takashi Shirogane wasn’t the type of boy who would ask for anything he could obtain on his own; his uniform had mended bits of clumsy linework, like a commitment made between him and his regimentals to last across the whole school year. He also wasn’t the type of boy to carelessly skip a meal, nor allow anyone to step on him or anyone else, for that matter; he would step up for what was right, not sweep transgressions under the carpet. But above all, he wouldn’t lie; not to Iverson. The apprehension wasn’t transparent in his face, because Shiro looked up at him and saw right through him.

“Trust me, sir.” He promised, he promised, he promised. “This is nothing.”

Iverson trusted him then but, by the stars, he shouldn’t have.

* * *

 

 

**_VIII._ **

 

“Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis.”

The day Iverson spoke to Shiro about his disease - its symptoms, complications, the inevitable outcome - the boy didn't shed a tear. He heard the older one speak, back straight, titanium eyes locked with Mitch's, lips pressed in a tight line, jaw beyond tense. His little heart had to be racing violently, threatening to burst through his suddenly constricted rib cage, but Shiro remained calm through it all.

“ALS, as the doctor shortened it for, often starts in the hands, feet or limbs, and then spreads to other parts of the body. As the disease advances and nerve cells are destroyed, your muscles progressively weaken. This eventually affects chewing, swallowing, speaking and finally... breathing.”

So fucking brave, this stellar kid, while Iverson himself had his knees quivering under the desk that separated them.

The Lieutenant had to keep his eyes on the notes as he read through the combination of words that described the gradual deterioration of the cells responsible for voluntary muscle movement, each word a deep salty cut on Shiro’s already open wounds.

“... Do you understand this, Shirogane?”

The boy - newly made man no more than two months ago - only nodded at the question. He swallowed the drool that had undoubtedly pooled around his tongue, and opened his mouth for the first time.

"Will I be able to fly, sir?"

Iverson didn't mean to drag the pause that followed for as long as he had. The silence was an answer for itself, Shiro knew, the look in his superior's pitying eyes, he knew that Takashi Shirogane would never fucking fly a real ship.

And that broke Iverson about as much as it shattered the poor boy’s dreams.

"...May I be excused, sir...?" He begged.

"...of course." There was much more to discuss, specially treatment-wise - the Garrison would cover it, of course, and if they wouldn't, then Iverson himself would pull it out of his own pocket - but could he ever deny a request as honest as that? "Yes, Takashi. I'll arrange for the doctor to order your medication and deliver it to your quarters."

Shiro wanted to say thank you (even if there was nothing to objectively be glad for) as his polite nature demanded, but he was too damaged, oh so unfairly crushed, the poor boy had taken a shot to the heart, but Iverson let him go. Time… Shiro needed time, even if time was the one thing he didn’t have.

 

* * *

 

Later that day, he saw to the delivery of the meds himself, but Instructor Adam Westerberg reported that his significant other (despite vague moralistic concerns regarding their ranks within the Garrison) hadn't returned to their shared quarters all day.

All indicated that Shiro hadn’t told Adam of his condition yet. Despite feeling obliged to tell, Iverson decided that Shiro would do so in his due time. It would be a long conversation, with certain consequences that could not be predicted.

“Sir, please. If something happened, I must know.”

Iverson excused himself despite Adam’s insistence on the matter, the youngster’s glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose with the sweat and untold fear.

A look around the parking lot, particularly the empty spot reserved for Senior Cadet Shirogane, confirmed Iverson's suspicions. Whatever was out there in the desert had always made it easier for the boy - the man - to interiorize.

He waited right there, hands resting at the end of his back, shoulders squared, eyes set in the horizon. It had become a habit, he supposed, that Shiro would ride around the canyons whenever he needed a break from anything that stressed him. An hour, maybe two, and he’d be back; the sky was mockingly bright and blue but it wasn’t until it became dyed in tonal orange and purple that the hoverbike flew back into the garage.

Once properly parked within the yellow traced limits, Shiro pulled the goggles off to rest against his forehead, the area around his eyes dented with the shape of the goggles, sweat spiking the hair on the back of his head he usually kept shaved but now grew slightly over an inch. He should’ve been wearing the helmet stored under the seat, but he wouldn’t hear that sermon from Iverson, not today. Not when he had to drag himself out of the bike, his feet slower and heavier than his superior had ever seen.

Takashi Shirogane was stellar.

He stopped merely a footstep away from Iverson, reddened eyes hesitantly raising from the concrete ground to meet coffee-colored ones. He was exhausted, face dirtied with desert dust, lips chapped, eyes swollen. Swollen and about to spill with what had been held back for hours now.

This kid had grown quite a bit the past years; in the beginning of his journey in the Garrison he had to look up to meet the Lieutenant’s eyes, but now it was Iverson who had to tilt his bearded chin up to do so. It saddened him that he had to see Shiro’s head falling heavily on his shoulder to realize this.

Should he… hug him? Should he--

Shiro decided that for himself, nuzzling on the hesitant support provided by Iverson’s shoulder, fist gripping on the loose grey fabric on the Lieutenant’s back. He felt a shudder and gave in to wrap an arm around the boy, his other hand resting on the back of his head.

Takashi Shirogane was fucking stellar.

“... S’okay, my boy.” he guaranteed. He felt his uniform soak, one tear at a time, hiccuping sobs making Shiro shake in his arms. “I’m here...”

He trembled and yelled. Fucking yelled, finally allowing all that suffering to exteriorize, making the very foundations of the Galaxy Garrison flinch in their solid, flawless architecture. At some point the two must have fallen to their knees, the boy uncontrollably crying, pretty face twisted into something painful to look at, but Iverson didn’t let go.

“It’ll be okay...” Iverson promised over the agonized screams that echoed in the large parking lot. He promised, though it wasn’t within his right to lie to Shiro as he cradled the youngster against him, cooing him and letting him punch and kick and turn. “You’ll be okay... We’ll work it out. We will.”

Takashi Shirogane was stellar and the stars would never have the honor to see it for themselves. 


End file.
